


Kenopsia

by pyrchance



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Prom, Teenagers Video Shoot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27785560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrchance/pseuds/pyrchance
Summary: When they pass the cigarette to Ray, he manages to take it with only a little glance around.He leans against the stage, eyes on the space around them, taking in the decorations of their mock performance. Half of the folding chairs are upturned from the staged riot. The barriers keeping the crowd from the stage are still on the floor.He can’t help but muse aloud, “You know, I never went to a high school dance.”
Relationships: Ray Toro/Mikey Way
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	Kenopsia

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was kenopsia – n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet.

It’s like a storm has rolled through the gymnasium.

Ray’s shoes crunch on red confetti as he picks his way closer to the stage. It’s eerie being back inside of a high school, especially one as empty and thrashed as this one. Without the extras and the crew filling up the space it’s hard not to feel out of place. Every time he steps out of the gym where their stuff is set up Ray feels like he’s trespassing as he walks past the all too familiar lockers and rows and rows of desks in empty classrooms.

He finds Mikey and Frank sitting with their legs hanging off of the stage, sharing a cigarette. Ray looks nervously around them as he gets close enough to smell the smoke expecting the principal or the producer or someone from the video shoot to come out and yell at them.

He reaches the stage with the strange sensation of having crossed through an apocalypse. “This is weird right?”

Mikey quirks up an eyebrow at him and shrugs, while Frank kicks his legs against the side of the stage. The resulting booms are loud and far too echoey in the empty space.

“You getting nostalgic on us, Toro?” Frank asks, taking the cigarette from Mikey and smirking around it.

Ray shakes his head, but can’t shake the feeling. He rubs his arms, wishing he’d kept the jacket they’d given him for the shoot. He’d lost it some time during the fake riot of the video. It’s cold in the empty gym. “I don’t think any of us are really nostalgic for high school,” he says.

Frank grins, prodding at Mikey with his shoe. “I dunno. I heard Mikey was a baby lady killer.”

“I’ll kill you,” says Mikey, kicking back.

When they pass the cigarette to Ray, he manages to take it with only a little glance around. The nicotine helps settle his nerves. He leans against the stage, eyes on the space around them, taking in the decorations of their mock performance. Half of the folding chairs are upturned from the staged riot. The barriers keeping the crowd from the stage are still on the floor. He can’t help but muse aloud, “You know, I never went to a high school dance.”

“What?” squawks Frank. “Never?”

“No prom?” adds Mikey, looking up curiously from where he’d been picking away at his chipping black nails.

Suddenly shy, Ray just shrugs. Frank straightens up with a face Ray knows too well. “Who hurt you, Toro?” he demands, only half-joking. “What girl do I need to kill?”

“You know that’s the third you’ve mentioned killing women since we’ve been here,” Mikey comments idly.

Ray glances over. “Third?”

“We were talking about that Catwoman movie before you came back,” Mikey explains, before looking over at Frank again. “You’re just lucky Gee isn’t here.”

Frank winces, looking over his shoulder like Gerard might just appear behind one of the massive curtains hung over the stage. He regains himself quickly when no such sight occurs, rounding back to his original point. “I think you might have been more pathetic than me in high school. I honestly didn’t think that was possible, Toro.”

“I wasn’t, like, unpopular or whatever,” Ray defends, already regretting bringing it up in the first place. This is why secrets never last long in bands. He flicks the cigarette to give his hands something to do. “I just didn’t go to dances.”

“Yeah, well I _was_ unpopular and I still managed to ball up and make it to prom.” Frank pauses, cocking his head and making a face. “Okay. Mostly it was because my mom and Jamia would kill me if I didn’t, but still. These are important milestones. Tell him, Mikey.”

Mikey flicks a particularly large chip of black nail polish in Frank’s direction before looking over at Ray. “Even Gerard went.”

Frank cackles as Ray winces because, wow, low blow. Ray didn’t know Gerard back in high school, but he always consoled himself with the belief that at least one other person in this band had to have had a rougher go of it in high school than himself.

“We can fix this,” Frank announces, springing to his feet suddenly and scurrying over to where his guitar had been hastily packed away after the shoot. The stage is still all set up, even if the rest of the gym is empty and trashed. They’re all just hanging around until the photographer gets here to take some stills.

Frank slips his guitar strap over his head and doesn’t bother to plug in his amp. They’re never really allowed to play on these things so everything isn’t set up right anyway.

He comes back up to the edge of the stage and nudges Mikey’s shoulder with his knee. Mikey glances up at him irritably.

“Dance dance time, motherfuckers,” Frank pronounces, grinning down at them both with far too many teeth.

Ray doesn’t get it, but Mikey smirks and rubs out the cigarette on the stage. Ray winces, knowingthey’re going have to pay for that, then winces even more when Frank proceeds to butcher his way through _something_ that might sound like top forties.He’s only distracted when Mikey hops off the stage and ambles over to him, throwing his arms around Ray’s neck without prior notice. He holds on even after Ray jerks back.

“Just humor him,” says Mikey, fingers locking behind Ray’s neck. “He’s trying to be nice.”

Ray glances up at the stage where Frank is jamming his way through something that might be _Hey Ya_ or might just be a collection of base chords. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, face hot.

“Your _face_ is ridiculous,” shouts out Frank from the stage. He pauses his playing just long enough to point an accusing finger at them. “I’m giving you prime high school memories here.”

“You’re hurting his delicate ears,” Mikey grins back.

Ray groans. He can’t fight back against _both_ of them. “At least play something you know how to play,” he demands.

Frank mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “party pooper” but switches over to something that eventually resolves itself into _The Clash_. It’s not great without amps or drums or really anything else but it’s better than before. A tug on his neck brings Ray’s attention back down to the bassist currently clinging to his spine.

“You do know how to dance, right?” Mikey asks, expression set in a challenge. Ray ignores the prickle of heat on his face and nods. “Then _dance_. He’s not going to let this go.”

That part is definitely true. Ray hesitates for just a moment more before dropping his hands onto Mikey’s skinny hips. Mikey’s jeans ride entirely too low and Ray realizes he’s got his hands mostly on Mikey’s boxers far too late to move them without being even more awkward.

Mikey is the one that sways them, while Ray is the one that leaves entirely too much room for Jesus in the gap between their bodies. It’s ridiculous, because Ray can handle himself in a crowded club of strangers just fine, thank you very much, but he doesn’t seem to know what to look at with Mikey in his hands.

Up on the stage, Frank begins what Ray can only generously be described as singing, caterwauling his way through something that might just be an British accent. Ray snorts despite himself and finds himself accidentally looking down as Mikey grins a tiny, snarky smile.

“Trust me,” mumbles Mikey quietly, “this is better than what they were playing at my prom.”

“Frank could start a side gig,” Ray agrees, pleased when Mikey’s tiny grin edges wider.

“At least if he’d play middle schools he’d finally be the right height.”

“I can hear you fuckers talking about me,” calls out Frank from the stage, apparently not as lost in the music as he might have seemed. Mikey and Ray dissolved into laughter as Frank belts out his song even louder, apparently just to spite them.

Still choking on his laughter, Ray doesn’t see the downed chair just behind him until he’s tripping on it. Mikey’s hands lock tight around his neck and just barely save them both from tumbling straightonto the floor. They end up awkwardly frog-marching over it, banging their ankles over the metal legs and wheezing.

“We’re really, really bad at this,” Ray mutters when they’re finally up straight.

Mikey grins openly at him now and it takes Ray a minute to realize his smile is so large partly because the space between them as disappeared. Ray lets go of Mikey’s hips, suddenly aware that their Jesus room has shrunk considerably, but Mikey doesn’t. Ray is just about to take an awkward step backward and break the whole thing up when the doors to the gym bang open.

Gerard’s mouth drops open at the sight laid before him— Ray and Mikey in a tangle, now with smarting ankles as they semi-sway to sound of Frank going absolutely apeshit without an amp on stage.

“What the—“ stammers out Gerard, openly gaping at them. Ray feels his insides squeeze, especially when Mikey’s hands fall abruptly from his neck.

“Frankie is throwing Ray a dance,” Mikey says as Gerard marches toward them.

“A prom?” Gerard asks and Ray can’t say why he’s relieved when Gerard’s voice is nothing but curious and confused.

“Apparently Ray was too cool for his,” Frank explains, still jamming away on the stage.

Gerard’s face falls into what can only be described as a sulk. “I can’t believe you assholes are having fake prom without me.” His expression falls even further as he finally reaches Ray and Mikey, leaning into his brother. “Wait. Were you guys _smoking_ in here? I had to go all the way outside!”

The sounds of Frank’s honking giggles fills up the empty gymnasium, chasing away the last of the eerie feeling. Ray laughs along with him, especially when Gerard races up the stairs to go chasing Frank around the stage for another cigarette.

He doesn’t notice Mikey drawing near again until he’s suddenly backed up against Ray’s chest, cellphone held aloft. “Say cheese,” Mikey commands.

“Uh?” says Ray.

There’s a click. Ray doesn’t move as Mikey looks down at his phone, smirking in apparent pleasure. He catches the gobsmacked expression that Ray’s too slow to hide and something soft and knowing crawls across his features.

“You can’t go to prom without a pic,” Mikey says, before pocketing his phone. “Don’t worry. It’s terrible. I’ll only send it to your mom.”

“Just so you know, I think it’s really, really weird you have my mom’s phone number,” Ray manages to say, just as Mikey’s arms wrap around his neck again and steal all the words from his throat.

“I have everybody’s number,” Mikey replies unbothered. He tugs again at Ray’s neck, until Ray gets the message and wraps his hands back around Mikey’s hips. “Come on. I’m not done relieving my prom yet.“

“I thought this was about me?”

Mikey snorts. “I think you got upstaged,” he says and his eyes cut to the stage where Gerard and Frank have managed to go horizontal, wrestling around for what seem to be a crumpled cigarette dangling from Frank’s fingertips.

It’s a familiar sight. Ray feels his unease ebb, even as Mikey’s hands on him remain strange and new. He feels a tug on his hair and blinks down at Mikey.

“Dance with me, Toro,” Mikey demands. “I’m your prom date.”

And Ray, to the sounds of his best friends shrieking on an empty stage, does just that.


End file.
